It’s that time of the year again. That gutting realization that it’s time to shove your body into a piece of spandex/lycra and pray to the deities that everyone around you is either a.) blind b.) drunk or c.) fatter than you. It’s bathing suit season.

The magical time of year when women start losing their proverbial shit at the idea that multitudes of people are going to see them in a hell of a lot less clothing than they normally wear.

I had my annual freak out this morning when I was starting to gather some crap to run away for the weekend. I tossed a few suits into the pile and thought out loud “maybe I’ll just skip the pool.”

WHAT?

Screw that.

I am a water loving, sun-worshiping human. I feel better when I’m floating in a pool/lake/river/ocean. I’m nicer to everyone if I get some sun. I feel better about life when I get a little float time.

I am not, nor have I ever been, a super model. I have never had a body that stopped people on the streets. I mean, maybe if I was particularly cleavy, someone might pause and say “put those things away”, but I’m not one of those people that have a “banging body.”

I’m clearly ok with that, otherwise, I would dedicate my life toning/firming/surgically improving ALL of the things.

I realized this morning, that I still care, but I’m certainly not going to miss out on stuff because I’m afraid to let my big ass be seen in public. Or my thighs. Or my boobs. Whatever.

Life is short.

I was raised in a house that was the opposite of a naked house. Literally. We covered all of the things up. My mother has never in my life worn a skirt, shorts and certainly not a bathing suit. She has never enjoyed her body, always finding fault, and by default, has extended that to others. She has vocalized many times over the years that I should not wear revealing clothes because “no one wants to see that.” I literally wore baggy clothes, sizes larger than me until I was in college. Nothing makes a teen girl feel awesome than having your mom drag you to Lane Bryant so that you can buy jeans that don’t “hug your butt.” No one knew I had boobs until I was out of the house- I hid those under layers and layers of baggy clothes.

Over it.

Life is too short to hate your body.

Mine is far from perfect. I get that. I”ve known that forever. I’m not going to hide though. I’m going to find a suit that is comfortable, doesn’t ride up the butt cheeks and hoik the girls up enough that I don’t look like a photo from National Geographic. I realize that I might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but there have been at least 2 dudes in the history of me that have tolerated all of “this.” I think it’s going to be ok.

Onwards to the pool. Hand me a drink and some SPF… It’s summer time!